


Differential

by afractionof



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Not Like That's!Dirk/Dave, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afractionof/pseuds/afractionof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A morning of firsts, cold fingers, and kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Differential

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Khemi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khemi/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Not Like That](https://archiveofourown.org/works/620464) by [Khemi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khemi/pseuds/Khemi). 



> Merry Christmas, Khemi. I'll spare my notes from the Tumblr post and just leave it at that. :)

His hand was cold.

His _hand_ was _cold_.

He felt the soft tone of surprise and excitement more than heard it, and turned when Dave laughed. Dirk had almost forgotten he was standing there and the realization only added to the moment. He'd been so absorbed that his processes had faltered, his attention momentarily focused solely on what was right before him.

"My hand is cold." He smiled at Dave, wide enough to feel the stretch in his cheeks and bounced back on his heels. "My hand is _cold_ , Dave!"

"That's usually what happens when you shove it in a pile of snow," Dave drawled, but a little twitch in his lips was visible, effectively ruining the lazy tone he'd been aiming for.

"You are happy for me."

Heat rushed to Dave's cheeks and the sensors monitoring blood flow jumped in the corner of his vision.

"Yeah, well... look at you, stomping around in the snow."

He glanced down. He could see his legs, the shoes covering his more realistic set of feet and the red hoodie hanging down a little passed his hips. He couldn't see his face, however, or his hair and he lifted his hands, flexing his fingers slowly as he watched the joints bend and slide. "Without a mirror it's impossible to fully view myself."

Dave huffed an amused sigh and stepped over, the crunch of the snow under the soles of his shoes crisp in the chilled air. A warm hand touched his cheek and Dirk looked up.

"That's not what I meant."

“I assumed as much,” he responded. He was used to Dave’s sarcasm and the form of wit he employed.

He supposed his own needed a bit more work.

Behind the shades, Dave rolled his eyes and Dirk followed the movement, gaze darting down to his lips when his smile widened.

“Ha ha.” Reaching out, he took Dirk’s hand. “Be careful though. If you get too cold, it might hurt. I don’t know shit about how Bro programmed this crap but I know what it feels like to freeze your ass off and it’s tingly and it sucks. It sucks big, freezing dick.”

“I don’t think it’s--”

Dave’s fingers pressed to his lips as he shook his head. “Don’t you dare finish that.”

“Wh--”

“Shoosh, only snow now. I don’t want to hear about anatomical impossibilities because there is some hung dude out there that gets his jollies from dick popsicles. So don’t even start with me.”

==>

They'd spent the afternoon building miniature snowmen out of what little snow they could find that hadn't been reduced to slush. Dirk was confident that the world had never seen a better army of soggy lumps but Dave assured him that, somewhere - likely in Canada - someone was well on their way to an army of terracotta-ice sculptures that would crush them like the shady remains of gas station cups left to wither on the side of the road.

He’d taken pictures of them either way and the soft click of the camera was still fresh in Dirk’s mind.

Maybe Dave would let him help with developing the film.

The thought left him smiling as he sat down on the futon and held out a fresh mug of hot chocolate. Dave took it, sipping before Dirk had time to tell him it was too hot to immediately consume and he tried not to laugh when Dave’s lips twisted and he slapped a hand over his mouth.

A mumbled ‘ _asshole_ ’ came from behind Dave’s fingers and Dirk smiled over the edge of his own mug. “It is hot.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “Oh, really? I had no fucking clue, dude, _none_ whatsoever. The tingling on the tip of this muscle flopping around in my saliva is obviously from your supreme radness in the kitchen and not the fire that threatened to engulf my mouth ten seconds ago. Thanks.”

He felt his cheeks warm, that uncomfortable feeling of embarrassment flashing brightly in his mind at the drawn out edge of Dave’s sarcasm and he shrugged, settling down to look at the television. Thankfully, Dave let the subject drop and simply continued muttering into the foam on top of his drink.

Truth be told, Dirk wasn’t very accomplished at cooking. He tried, of course, and he didn’t doubt he would get better with practice but it would take _much_ more practice and _much_ more patience than Father seemed to have for his kitchen being the center of ‘yolky desecration’, as he’d called it.

Sighing, he sipped the chocolate, savoring the sweetness.

"You know what we need around here?"

The question hung in the air, the silence stretching and when Dirk looked over, Dave was watching him expectantly.

“Is that a question you would like an answer to?” He was used to Dave and his penchant to ‘pause for effect’. Being asked a question that needed a verbal answer and wasn’t rhetorical was a rare occurrence, but one he usually looked forward to and Dirk set the cup down, turning his full attention to him. “I could list a number of things the apartment needs, if you’d like.”

He heard more than saw Dave roll his eyes again. “I mean right now, Dirk, in the spirit of the holidays. We need something and that something is…?”

“More garland?”

“There’s so much garland I can feel it crawling up my ass.”

“Should I take that as a ‘yes’?”

“I’m not going to dignify that shitty response with an answer. We ne--”

“I believe by acknowledging that I gave a ‘shitty response’ you have dignified, in a manner of speaking.”

“ _We need_ ,” Dave continued, ignoring him as he leaned forward to set the mug down on the coffee table. “Mistletoe.”

_Mistletoe?_ “Why?”

“Dirk.”

“It is a legitimate question. I understand that it holds some sentimental value through tradition and obscure lore, but you are neither of immediate Norse descent, nor seemingly interested in becoming fertile.”

“These eggs need all the help they can get, bro, don’t deny me my miracle grow.”

“I’d hardly consider superstition ‘miracle grow’.”

"Kill joy."

"Why do we need mistletoe?"

Dave shook his head, reaching out to pat Dirk's shoulder. His hand was warm, squeezing lightly as he let out a slow sigh. "Dirk, Dirk, Dirky, Dirk Dirk. For kisses, of course."

He frowned, head tipping in confusion. "I don't understand why a poisonous plant is required for kissing just because it is December."

"It's not."

“Then--”

Dave’s fingers pressed firmly against his lips and he exhaled purposefully, internally rolling his eyes at the interruption.

“Shoosh, only surprises now.”

“Surp--”

“God damn, dude, shoosh,” Dave muttered, cutting him off once again. “Can’t you see I’m trying to get my seduction on and you’re stomping all over my poisonous white berry excuse? No. No, of course you can’t because I know whose brain you came from and there is no one, in any assbackwards part of the world, shoved up a hole way in the back forty jungle, who can miss a hint like Bro can. So, I’m going to just sidle on over and be the bigger man here, you see? Just like this. I’m going to forgive you and tell you to close your eyes and accept your surprise.”

“Why would I need to close my eyes?” Dirk felt his lips pull down into a frown when Dave groaned, exasperation clear in his tone. He was used to Dave talking in circles, walking his way from one end of a conversation to the middle of a completely different train of thought, but this was a stretch even for him.

He was, in fact, making excuses. His cheeks were darkening steadily, the color spreading up to the tips of his ears as he spoke and his temperature had risen alongside it. He was embarrassed, according to his biology, and Dirk’s frown slowly lifted into a smile as realization dawned on him.

Dave was _embarrassed_ , but not for the usual pile of reasons generally related to Father or his friends.

He was making excuses - admittedly terrible ones, too - to get a kiss.

From him.

_Dave_ wanted to kiss _him_.

“Is my surprise a kiss?” He questioned, shifting to face him fully, unable - and unwilling - to hide his smile.

Dave huffed a short sigh, lips pinching before he spoke. “No.”

“You’re lying.”

“Will you just shut your damn eyes?”

“No.” Dave’s surprise was clear but he shook his head, continuing. “If my surprise is a kiss, I want to be able to fully enjoy it.”

Though he’d been waiting for Jake to take the initiative, it’d never come, their relationship taking a more friendly route than Dirk had longed for at the start. It was one of comfort, especially after Father’s initial ‘punch to the gut’, as Jake had labeled it.

He didn’t mind though. Jake was his friend and trusted him enough to share his life and his escapades, even if just through text and that was something he wouldn’t trade.

He longed for the experience though and Dave took up a very large portion of his figurative heart.

He’d been Dirk’s first friend; the first person to treat him with the same respect he would anyone else, the first person to share with him and label him a good ‘bro’.

Yes, he wanted to share this with Dave and, no, he wouldn’t close his eyes. “I want to remember it.”

“You’d remember it even with your eyes closed. It’s just a kiss,” Dave muttered, fingers tugging at the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

“I want to remember your expression and, with my eyes closed, I would miss out on that.”

“It’s just--”

“Please.”

Dave fell silent; his fidgeting coming to a stop and Dirk knew he was thinking it over. His lips were pressed into a thin line, the tips of his ears turning a deep shade of red and he felt a little twinge of sympathy for Dave’s embarrassment.

He never got a verbal response but the hand on his cheek said everything and more.

It was okay. Dave understood, and as he leaned up, shuffling forward on the futon, Dirk could feel his fingers shaking. He could feel the warmth of Dave’s breath as it neared, feel the hesitation hanging briefly between them, and he was glad he hadn’t closed his eyes. The gentleness, the desire - they were things he would never forget and though he frequently wished to be human, to fully live as Jake and his father did, he was, for the first time, thankful that the clarity of his memories differed.

Unlike some, he would never forget his first kiss; the memory would never dim, never fade and, perhaps someday, he could share exactly what that meant to him with Dave.

 

  
  
  
  



End file.
